Page 192 of Porcelain Lies

“I completely understand, but there’s no time to argue about this now. Your son needs you.”

Blyad!

He’s right!

Bobik needs me!

I swallow my fury and steel myself. “I’ll be there,” I say roughly before ending the call.

Bozhe moy!

What man should have to face this?

Me, that’s who.Penance for my crimes. And God knows I’ve committed enough of them.

“Handle this,” I bark at Sasha through the doorway, my own voice foreign to my ears. He blinks at me in confusion but I don’t have time to explain things to him. If there’s anyone who can deal with Gianni and Sofia, it’s him. He’ll keep Stella safe while I’m gone.

At least that’s what I tell myself because fuck, I don’t have any other options.I spin on my heel, taking the stairs two at a time as I race back to my waiting vehicle. One singular thoughtis driving me forward: Bobik. There’s still time. There has to be time. I won’t let it end like this. Not like this.

Critical condition.

Might be your last chance to see him alive…

I robotically leap into the driver’s seat, slam the door, and jam the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, but before I can shift into drive, something happens: the cracking sound of gunfire erupts inside the warehouse — sharp cracks that cut through the air like blades.

“Chto za khuy?”

My hands freeze on the steering wheel.

A shout from Sasha — angry, urgent. More shots. Then another burst of gunfire, longer this time.

Yobani urod!

What now?

“Sasha!” I yell uselessly, knowing he can’t hear me.

I’m halfway out of the car when I hear it — Stella’s scream, high and terrified, slicing through me like a knife. Then, a dull thud. The way a lifeless body drops to the floor. I’ve heard it enough times to know exactly what it sounds like.

Then, there’s silence. Absolute fucking silence.

What the fuck just happened in there?

My blood in my veins turns to ice.

“No,” I whisper, the word barely audible even to myself.

The bitter smell of death circles around me, suffocating me, like it’s enjoying watching me as I lose everything. My phonevibrates again in my pocket — Dr. Malhotra calling back, no doubt wondering where I am while my son lies dying.

My son. My unborn child. Stella.

I’m being torn apart, pulled in opposite directions by two impossible choices. The hospital is twenty minutes away. Twenty minutes that Bobik might not have. But Stella—

I slam my fist against the dashboard, hard enough that pain shoots up my arm.

“BLYAD!”

More silence from the warehouse. I strain to hear anything — movement, voices, even more gunfire. Nothing. Just the pounding of blood in my ears and the insistent ringing of my phone.

---